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"NOT  TO  BE  REMOVED  FROM  LIBRARY 

WITHOUT  PROPER  AUTHORITY." 

PROPERTY  OF  HEARST  CORP. 


Dorothy  0 

Together  with 

A  Ballad  of  the  Boston  Tea  Party 

& 

Grandmother's  Story  of  Bunker  Hill  Battle 

By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

IVith  Illustrations  by 
Howard  Pyle 


I^llIffilCE^ 


Boston  and  New  York 
Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company 


MDCCCXCIII 


Copyright,  1874  3"^  1875, 
By  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

Copyright,  1892, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  resei'ved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


OROTHY  QUINCY,  the  subject  of  the 
first  poem  in  this  volume^  was  aunt 
of  the  first  Josiah  Quincy,  Junior ^ 
"  that  fervid  orator  who  expended 
his  life  for  the  cause  of  his  country^  dying  on  ship- 
board in  sight  of  home,  as  he  returned  frotn  Eng- 
land after  hostilities  had  begun  only  seven  days!''' 
She  was  also  the  aunt  of  a  second  Dorothy  Quincy, 
who  became  the  wife  of  John  Hancock,  President 
of  the  first  Continental  Congress. 

The  painting  hung  in  the  house  of  my  grand- 
father, Oliver  Wendell,  which  was  occupied  by 
British  officers  before  the  evacuation  of  Boston. 
One  of  these  gentlemen  amused  himself  by  stabbing 
poor  Dorothy  {the  pictured  one)  as  near  the  7'ight 
eye  as  his  swordsmanship  would  serve  him  to  do 
it.  The  canvas  was  so  decayed  that  it  became  neces- 
sary to  remount  the  paititiiig,  in  the  process  of 
5 


doing  which  the  hole  made  by  the  rapier  was  lost 
sight  of.  I  took  so7ne  photographs  of  the  picture 
before  it  was  transferred  to  the  new  canvas. 

The  tax  on  tea,  which  was  considered  so  odious 
and  led  to  the  act  on  which  A  Ballad  of  the  Boston 
Tea  Party  is  founded,  was  but  a  small  matter, 
only  two  pence  in  the  pound.  Bui  it  involved  a 
principle  of  taxation,  to  which  the  Colonies  would 
not  submit.  Their  objection  was  not  to  the  amount, 
but  the  claim.  The  East  India  Company^  however, 
sent  out  a  number  of  tea-ships  to  different  Amer- 
ican ports,  three  of  them  to  Boston. 

The  inhabitants  tried  to  send  them  back,  but  in 
vain.  The  captains  of  the  ships  had  consented,  if 
permitted,  to  return  with  their  cargoes  to  Englafid, 
but  the  consignees  refused  to  discharge  them  frotn 
their  obligations,  the  custom  house  to  give  them  a 
clearance  for  their  return,  and  the  governor  to 
grant  them  a  passport  for  going  by  the  fort.  It 
was  easily  seen  that  the  tea  would  be  gradually 
landed  fro7n  the  ships  lying  so  near  the  town,  and 
that  if  landed  it  would  be  disposed  of,  and  the 
purpose  of  establishing  the  monopoly  and  raising 
a  revenue  effected.  To  prevent  the  dreaded  conse- 
quence, a  number  of  armed  men,  disguised  like 
Indians,  boarded  the  ships  and  threw  their  whole 
cargoes  of  tea  into  the  dock.  About  seventeen  per- 
sons boarded  the  ships  in  Boston  harbor,  aftd 
emptied  three  hundred  and  forty-two  chests  of  tea.  ^ 
Amo7tg  these  ^'•Indians'*''  was  Major  Thomas Mel- 

1  Holmes's  ^  ««a/5'  of  America,  vol.  ii.  pp.  i8i-3. 

6 


ville,  the  sajue  who  suggested  to  7ne  the  poem, 
"  The  Last  Leaf.^^ 

The  story  of  Btmker  Hill  battle  is  told  as  liter- 
ally in  accordance  with  the  best  authorities  as  it 
would  have  been  if  it  had  beeit  written  in  prose 
instead  of  in  verse.  I  have  often  been  asked  what 
steeple  it  was  fro7n  which  the  little  group  I  speak 
of  looked  upon  the  conflict.  To  this  I  answer  that 
I  am  not  prepared  to  speak  authoritatively,  but 
that  the  reader  7nay  take  his  choice  a7no7tg  all  the 
steeples  standing  at  that  ti7}ie  i7t  the  northern  part 
of  the  city.  Christ  Church  i7i  Sale77i  Street  is  the 
07ie  I  always  think  of  but  I  do  7iot  i7isist  upo7i  its 
clai7n.  As  to  the  perso7iages  who  made  up  the 
S7nall  company  that  followed  the  old  corporal,  it 
would  be  hard  to  identify  the7n,  but  by  ascertaining 
where  the  portrait  by  Copley  is  7iow  to  be  found, 
so77ie  light  77iay  be  thrown  on  their  personality. 

Da7iiel  Malcolm'' s  gravestone,  spiifitered  by  Brit- 
ish bullets,  77tay  be  seen  i7i  the  Copp^s  Hill  burial- 
grotmd. 

O.  W.  H 


DOROTHY  Q.  •  •  ^^^^^ 

Portrait  of  Dorothy  Q.,  from  a  painting  in  the  pos- 
session of  Dr.  Holmes  ,        .        Frontisftece. 

Half  Title 13 

Painting  the  Picture         .        .        .        .        .        .        14 

"  Girlish  bust,  but  womanly  air  "         .        .        .        -15 
"  Hint  and  promise  of  stately  mien "       .        .        .        17 
"  The  youthful  sire  "    .......     18 

"  Soft  is  the  breath  of  a  maiden's  Yes  "  .        .        .        21 
"  Lady  and  lover" 22 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  BOSTON  TEA-PARTY 

"  The  Boston  teapot  bubbled  "        ....        26 
Half  Title    .    '    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .27 

A  cup  of  Tea 28 

"  Many  a  six-foot  grenadier 

The  flattened  grass  had  measured "         .        .        .31 
"  Her  tearful  memories  treasured  "  ...        32 

"  Behold  the  guests  advancing "  •        •        •        •    35 

"  The  lively  barTaer  " .36 

"  The  tiruanf  tapster  " 39 

"  The  cooper's  boys "       .        .        t        #        #        •        4° 


"  The  lusty  young  Fort-Hillers  " 
"  The  Tories  seize  the  omen  " 
"  The  Mohawk  band  is  swarming  " 
"  So  gracious,  sweet,  and  purring  " 
"  The  quiet  dame  "... 

An  Old  North-Ender 

GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY  OF  BUNKER-HILL 
BATTLE 
Watching  the  Battle  from  the  Steeple 

Half  Title 

The  Grandmother        .... 

"  Lord  Percy's  hunted  soldiers  " 

"  Says  grandma  '  What 's  the  matter  ? '  " 

"  The  Mohawks  killed  her  father  "  . 

"  '  Don't  you  fret  and  worry  any  '  " 

"  Down  my  hair  went  as  I  hurried  " 

"  The  Corporal  marched  before  " 

"We  climbed  the  creaking  stair  "    . 

"  The  earthwork  hid  them  from  us  " 

"  The  cannons'  deafening  thrill  "     . 

"  Like  a  gentleman  of  leisure  "    . 

"  The  belted  grenadiers  " 

"  The  barges  gliding  onward  "     . 

"  Again  they  formed  in  order  " 

"  They  wait  and  answer  not  " 

"  The  Corporal,  our  old  cripple  " 

Dan'l  Malcolm's  Grave 

"  In  the  hush  of  expectation  " 

"  Like  a  thunder-cloud  it  breaks  " 

"  A  headlong  crowd  is  flying  " 

"' Are  they  beaten  ? '" 

lO 


56 
57 
58 
61 
62 

65 
66 

69 
70 
73 
74 
77 
78 
81 
82 

85 
86 

89 
90 

93 
94 
97 
98 


"  They  are  baffled,  not  defeated  "    . 
"  The  roofs  of  Charlestown  blazing  " 
"  We  can  see  each  massive  cohimn  " 
"  The  ominous  calm  is  broken  " 
"  The  frightened  braves  of  Howe  " 
"  We  looked,  poor  timid  creatures  "    . 
"  '  Have  a  drop  of  old  Jamaiky ' "  . 
"  They  were  creeping  round  to  four  " 
"  In  close  array  they  come  "   . 
"  They  surged  above  the  breast-work  " 
"  They  say  I  fainted  "... 
"  *  Here 's  a  soldier  bleeding '"    . 
"  Brought  him  from  the  battle  "     . 
"  I  saw  his  eyes  were  blue  "         .        . 
"  We  came  to  know  each  other  "    . 
"  His  picture  Copley  painted  "    .        . 


lOI 

102 
105 
106 
109 
110 

"3 
114 
117 
118 
121 
122 
125 
126 
129 
130 


q      / 


■^^ 


Dorothy  Q, 


Grandmother's  mother :  her  age,  I 
guess, 

Thirteen  summers,  or  something  less ; 

Girlish  bust,  but  womanly  air; 

Smooth,  square  forehead,  with  up- 
rolled  hair, 

Lips  that  lover  has  never  kissed ; 

Taper  fingers  and  slender  wrist ; 

Hanging  sleeves  of  stiff  brocade ; 

So  they  painted  the  little  maid. 


On  her  hand  a  parrot  green 
Sits  unmoving  and  broods  serene. 
Hold  up  the  canvas  full  in  view,  — 
Look !  there  's  a  rent  the  light  shines 

through, 
Dark    with    a    century's    fringe    of 

dust,  — 
That  was  a  Red-Coat's  rapier  thrust ! 
Such  is  the  tale  the  lady  old, 
Dorothy's  daughter's  daughter,  told. 


Who  the  painter  was  none  may  tell,  — 
One  whose  best  was  not  over  well ; 
Hard  and  dry,  it  must  be  confessed, 
Flat  as   a  rose  that  has  long  been 

pressed ; 
Yet  in  her  cheek  the  hues  are  bright. 
Dainty  colors  of  red  and  white, 
And  in  her  slender  shape  are  seen 
Hint  and  promise  of  stately  mien. 
i6 


^^    e- 


t 
^ 


Look  not  on  her  with  eyes  of  scorn,  — 

Dorothy  Q.  was  a  lady  born ! 

Ay!   since    the    galloping    Normans 

came, 
England's    annals    have   known   her 

name. 
And  still    to  the    three-hilled    rebel 

town 
Dear  is  that  ancient  name's  renown. 
For  many  a  civic  wreath  they  won. 
The  youthful  sire  and  the  .gray-haired 

son. 

O  Damsel  Dorothy !  Dorothy  Q. ! 
Strange  is  the  gift  that  I  owe  to  you ; 
Such  a  gift  as  never  a  king 
Save     to   daughter     or    son     might 

bring,— 
All  my  tenure  of  heart  and  hand. 
All  my  title  to  house  and  land ; 
19 


^ 


^l( 


Mother  and  sister  and  child  and  wife 
And  joy  and  sorrow  and  death  and 
life! 


What  if  a  hundred  years  ago 

Those    close-shut  lips  had  answered 

No, 
When  forth  the    tremulous  question 

came 
That  cost  the  maiden   her  Norman 

name, 
And  under  the  folds  that  look  so  still 
The  bodice  swelled  with  the  bosom's 

thrill  ? 
Should  I  be  I,  or  would  it  be 
One    tenth   another,  to  nine    tenths 

me? 

Soft  is  the  breath  of  a  maiden's  Yes  : 
Not  the  light   gossamer    stirs  with 
less ; 


Q) 


But  never  a  cable  that  holds  so  fast 
Through  all  the  battles  of  wave  and 

blast, 
And  never  an  echo  of  speech  or  song 
That  lives  in  the  babbling  air  so  long ! 
There  were  tones  in  the  voice  that 

whispered  then 
You  may  hear  to-day  in  a  hundred 

men. 


O  lady  and  lover,  how  faint  and  far 
Your   images  hover,  --  and  here  we 

are, 
Solid  and  stirring  in  flesh  and  bone,  — 
Edward's  and    Dorothy's — all  their 

own,  — 
A  goodly  record  for  Time  to  show 
Of  a  syllable  spoken  so  long  ago  !  — 
Shall  I  bless  you,  Dorothy,  or  forgive 
For  the  tender  whisper  that  bade  me 

live? 

23 


It  shall  be  a  blessing,  my  little  maid ! 
I  will  heal  the  stab  of  the  Red- Coat's 

blade, 
And  freshen  the  gold  of  the  tarnished 

frame, 
And  gild  with  a  rhyme  your  household 

name ; 
So  you  shall   smile  on  us  brave  and 

bright 
As  first  you   greeted    the   morning's 

light, 
And  live    untroubled    by  woes    and 

fears 
Through  a  second  youth  of  a  hundred 

years. 

24 


..^^ 


BALLAD 

_  of  {he 

BOSTON  TEA-PARTY 


No !  never  such  a  draught  was  poured 

Since  Hebe  served  with  nectar 
The  bright  Olympians  and  their  Lord, 

Her  over-kind  protector, — 
Since    Father    Noah    squeezed    the 
grape 
And  took  to  such  behaving 
As  would  have  shamed  our  grandsire 
ape 
Before  the  days  of  shaving,  — 
No !  ne'er  was  mingled  such  a  draught 

In  palace,  hall,  or  arbor. 
As    freemen     brewed    and    tyrants 
quaffed 


That  night  in  Boston  Harbor! 


It  kept  King  George  so  long  awake, 

His  brain  at  last  got  addled, 
It  made  the  nerves  of  Britain  shake, 
With  sevenscore  millions  saddled  ; 
Before  that  bitter  cup  was  drained. 

Amid  the  roar  of  cannon, 
The    Western    war-cloud's    crimson 
stained 
The  Thames,  the  Clyde,  the  Shan- 
non; 

30 


«^ 


m^^  ^ 


Full  many  a  six-foot  grenadier 

The  flattened  grass  had  measured, 
And  many  a  mother  many  a  year 

Her  tearful  memories  treasured  ; 
Fast  spread  the  tempest's  darkening 
pall, 

The  m.ighty  realms  were  troubled, 
The  storm  broke  loose,  but  first  of  all 

The  Boston  teapot  bubbled ! 
23 


An  evening  party,  —  only  that, 

No  formal  invitation, 
No  gold-laced  coat,  no  stiff  cravat, 

No" feast  in  contemplation, 
No  silk-robed  dames,  no  fiddling  band, 

No  flowers,  no  songs,  no  dancing,  — 
A  tribe  of  red  men,  axe  in  hand,  — 

Behold  the  guests  advancing ! 
34 


^ 


How  fast    the    straggler^    join    the 
throng, 
From  stall  and  workshop  gathered ! 
The  lively  barber  skips  along, 
And  leaves  a  chin  half-lathered; 
Z7 


O- 


The  smith   has    flung    his  hammer 
down,  — 
The  horseshoe  still  is  glowing; 
The  truant  tapster  at  the  Crown 
Has  left  a  beer-cask  flowing; 
38 


The  cooper's  boys  have  dropped  the 
adze, 
And  trot  behind  their  master; 
Up  run  the  tarry  ship-yard  lads,  — 
The  crowd  is  hurrying  faster,  — 
41 


Out    from    the    Millpond's    purlieus 
gush 
The  streams  of  white-faced  millers, 
And  down  their  slippery  alleys  rush 
The  lusty  young  Fort-Hillers  ; 
42 


TlieFort^HiKers 


The  Tories. 


rr^ 


The    ropewalk    lends    its    'prentice 
crew,  — 
The  tones  seize  the  omen  : 
"  Ay,  boys,  you  '11  soon  have  work  to 
do 
For  England's  rebel  foemen, 
*  King   Hancock,'  Adams,  and  their 
gang, 
That  fire  the  mob  with  treason,  — 
When  these  we  shoot  and  those  we 
hang. 
The  town  will  come  to  reason." 
45 


On  —  on  to  where  the  tea-ships  ride ! 

And  now  their  ranks  are  forming,  — 
A  rush,  and  up  the  Dartmouth's  side 

The  Mohawk  band  is  swarming ! 
See  the  fierce  natives !  What  a  glimpse 

Of  paint  and  fur  and  feather. 
As  all  at  once  the  full-grown  imps 

Light  on  the  deck  together ! 
A  scarf  the  pigtail's  secret  keeps, 

A  blanket  hides  the  breeches,  — 
And  out  the  cursed  cargo  leaps, 

And  overboard  it  pitches ! 
46 


a 


O  woman,  at  the  evening  board 

So  gracious,  sweet,  and  purring, 
So  happy  while  the  tea  is  poured, 

So  blest  while  spoons  are  stirring, 
What  martyr  can  compare  with  thee, 

The  mother,  wife,  or  daughter. 
That  night,  instead  of  best  Bohea, 

Condemned  to  milk  and  water ! 
49 


Ah,  little  dreams  the  quiet  dame 

Who  plies  with  rock  and  spindle 
The  patient  flax,  how  great  a  flame 

Yon  little  spark  shall  kindle  ! 
The  lurid  morning  shall  reveal 

A  fire  no  king  can  smother, 
Where  British  flint  and  Boston  steel 

Have  flashed  against  each  other ! 
Old  charters  shrivel  in  its  track. 

His  Worship's  bench  has  crumbled, 
It  climbs  and  clasps  the  union-jack. 

Its  blazoned  pomp  is  humbled, 
The  flags  go  down  on  land  and  sea 

Like  corn  before  the  reapers ; 
So  burned  the  fire  that  brewed  the  tea 

That  Boston  served  her  keepers ! 
50 


The  waves  that  wrought  a  century's 
wreck 

Have  rolled  o'er  whig  and  tory ; 
The  Mohawks  on   the    Dartmouth's 
deck 

Still  live  in  song  and  story  ; 
The  waters  in  the  rebel  bay 

Have  kept  the  tea-leaf  sayor  ; 
Our  old  North-Enders  in  their  spray 

Still  taste  a  Hyson  flavor ; 
And  Freedom's  teacup  still  o'erflows 

With  ever  fresh  libations, 
To  cheat  of  slumber  all  her  foes 

And  cheer  the  wakening  nations  ! 
53 


f^>^ 


Here  endeth 

J  Ballad 

of  the 

Boston 

'Tea-Party 


Q 


grandmother's  story 

"f 

BUNKER  HILL 

BATTLE 


'T  IS  like  stirring  living  embers  when, 

at  eighty,  one  remembers 
All  the  achings  and  the  quakings  of 

"the    times    that    tried    men's 

souls ; " 
When   I   talk    of    IVM^  and   Tory, 

when  I  tell  the  I^edel  story. 
To  you  the  words  are  ashes,  but  to 

me  they  're  burning  coals. 


I  had  heard  the  muskets'  rattle  of  the 

April  running  battle ; 
Lord  Percy's  hunted  soldiers,  I  can 

see  their  red  coats  still ; 
But  a  deadly  chill  comes  o'er  me,  as 

the  day  looms  up  before  me, 
When  a  thousand  men  lay  bleeding 

on  the  slopes  of  Bunker's  Hill. 
60 


'T  was  a  peaceful  summer's  morning, 
when  the  first  thing  gave  us  warn- 
ing 

Was  the  booming  of  the  cannon  from 
the  river  and  the  shore  : 

"  Child,"  says  grandma,  "  what 's  the 
matter,  what  is  all  this  noise  and 
clatter  ? 

Have  those  scalping  Indian  devils 
come  to  murder  us  once  more  ?  " 
63 


Poor  old  soul !  my  sides  were  shaking 

in  the  midst  of  all  my  quaking, 
To  hear  her  talk  of  Indians  when  the 

guns  began  to  roar : 
She  had  seen  the  burning  village,  and 

the  slaughter  and  the  pillage. 
When  the  Mohawks  killed  her  father 

with  their  bullets    through    his 

door. 

64 


C55 


6^ 


Then  I  said,  "  Now,  dear  old  granny, 

don't  you  fret  and  worry  any, 
For  I  '11  soon  come  back  and  tell  you 

whether  this  is  work  or  play ; 
There  can't  be  mischief  in   it,  so  I 

won't  be  gone  a  minute  "  — 
For  a  minute  then  I  started.     I  was 

gone  the  livelong  day. 
67 


No  time  for  bodice-lacing  or  for  look- 
ing-glass grimacing; 

Down  my  hair  went   as   I   hurried, 
tumbling  half-way  to  my  heels  ; 

God  forbid  your  ever  knowing,  when 
there 's  blood  around  her  flowing, 

How  the  lonely,  helpless  daughter  of 
a  quiet  household  feels  ! 
68 


In  the  street  I  heard  a  thumping ;  and 

I  knew  it  was  the  stumping 
Of  the  Corporal,  our  old  neighbor,  on 

that  wooden  leg  he  wore, 
With  a  knot  of  women  round  him,  — 

it  was  lucky  I  had  found  him. 
So  I  followed  with  the  others,  and  the 

Corporal  marched  before. 
71 


They  were  making  for  the  steeple,  — 

the  old  soldier  and  his  people ; 
The  pigeons  circled  round  us  as  we 

climbed  the  creaking  stair, 
Just"  across   the   narrow   river  —  oh, 

so  close  it  made  me  shiver !  — 
Stood  a  fortress  on  the  hill-top  that 

but  yesterday  was  bare. 
72 


Not  slow  our  eyes  to  find  it ;  well  we 

knew  who  stood  behind  it, 
Though  the  earthwork  hid  them  from 

us,  and  the  stubborn  walls  were 

dumb : 
Here  were  sister,  wife,  and  mother, 

looking  wild  upon  each  other, 
And  their  lips  were  white  with  terror 

as  they  said.   The   hour   has 

come! 

75 


The   morning  slowly  wasted,  not  a 

morsel  had  we  tasted, 
And  our  heads  were  almost  splitting 

with  the  cannons'  deafening  thrill, 
When  a  figure  tall  and  stately  round 

the  rampart  strode  sedately ; 
It  was  Prescott,  one  since  told  me ; 

he  commanded  on  the  hill. 
76 


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Every  woman's  heart  grew  bigger 
when  we  saw  his  manly  figure, 

With  the  banyan  buckled  round  it, 
standing  up  so  straight  and  tall ; 

Like  a  gentleman  of  leisure  who  is 
strolling  out  for  pleasure, 

Through  the  storm  of  shells  and  can- 
non-shot he  walked  around  the 
wall. 

79 


At  eleven  the  streets  were  swarming, 
for  the  red-coats'  ranks  were 
forming ; 

At  noon  in  marching  order  they  were 
moving  to  the  piers  ; 

How  the  bayonets  gleamed  and  glis- 
tened, as  we  looked  far  down,  and 
listened 

To  the  trampling  and  the  drum-beat 
of  the  belted  grenadiers  ! 
80 


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T> 


At  length  the  men  have  started,  with 

a  cheer  (it  seemed  faint-hearted), 
In    their    scarlet    regimentals,   with 

their  knapsacks  on  their  backs. 
And  the  reddening,  rippling  water,  as 

after  a  sea-fight's  slaughter, 
Round    the    barges  gliding  onward 

blushed  like    blood  along  their 

tracks. 

83 


m 


So  they  crossed  to  the  other  border, 

and  again  they  formed  in  order  ; 
And  the  boats  came  back  for  soldiers, 

came  for  soldiers,  soldiers  still : 
The  time  seemed   everlasting  to  us 

women  faint  and  fasting,  — 
At   last   they  're   moving,   marching, 

marching  proudly  up  the  hill. 
84 


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iy-: 


We  can  see  the  bright  steel  glancing 

all  along  the  lines  advancing  — 
Now  the  front  rank  fires. a  volley  — 

they  have  thrown  away  their  shot ; 
For  behind  their  earthwork  lying,  all 

the  balls  above  them  flying, 
Our  people  need  not  hurry ;  so  they 

wait  and  answer  not. 
87 


Then  the  Corporal,  our  old   cripple 

(he  would  swear  sometimes  and 

tipple),  — 
He  had  heard  the  bullets  whistle  (in 

the  old  French  war)  before,  — 
Calls  out  in  words  of  jeering,  just  as 

if  they  all  were  hearing,  — 
And  his  wooden  leg  thumps  fiercely 

on  the  dusty  belfry  floor :  — 
88 


"  Oh  !  fire  away,  ye  villains,  and  earn 
King  George's   shillin's. 

But  ye  '11  waste  a  ton  of  powder  afore 
a  '  rebel '  falls ; 

You  may  bang  the  dirt  and  welcome, 
they're  as  safe  as  Dan'l  Mal- 
colm 

Ten  foot  beneath  the  gravestone  that 
you  've  splintered  with  your 
balls ! " 

91 


In  the  hush  of  expectation,  in  the 

awe  and  trepidation 
Of  the  dread  approaching  moment, 

'   we  are  well-nigh  breathless  all ; 
Though  the  rotten  bars  are  failing  on 

the  rickety  belfry  railing, 
We   are  crowding  up  against  them 
like  the  waves  against  a  wall. 
92 


Just  a  glimpse  (the  air  is  clearer), 
they  are  nearer,  —  nearer,  — 
nearer. 

When  a  flash  —  a  curling  smoke- 
wreath  —  then  a  crash  —  the 
steeple  shakes  — 

The  deadly  truce  is  ended ;  the  tem- 
pest's shroud  is  rended ; 

Like    a  morning  mist    it  gathered, 
like  a  thunder-cloud  it  breaks ! 
95 


Oh  the  sight  our  eyes  discover  as  the 

-blue-black  smoke  blows  over  ! 
The  red-coats  stretched  in  windrows 

as  a  mower  rakes  his  hay ; 
Here  a  scarlet  heap  is  lying,  there  a 

headlong  crowd  is  flying 
Like  a  billow  that  has  broken  and  is 
shivered  into  spray. 
96 


f^^ 


Then  we    cried,    "  The    troops    are 

routed  !  they  are  beat  —  it  can't 

be  doubted ! 
God  be  thanked,  the  fight  is  over ! " 

—  Ah !    the  grim   old    soldier's 

smile ! 
"  Tell  us,  tell  us  why  you  look  so  ?  " 

(we  could  hardly  speak,  we  shook 

so),— 
"  Are  they  beaten  1  Are  they  beaten  ? 

Are  they  beaten  ?  "  —  "  Wait  a 

while." 

99 


Oh  the  trembling  and  the  terror !  for 
too  soon  we  saw  our  error : 

They  are  baffled,  not  defeated;  we 
have  driven  them  back  in  vain ; 

And  the  columns  that  were  scattered, 
round  the  colors  that  were  tat- 
tered, 

Toward  the  sullen,  silent  fortress  turn 
their  belted  breasts  again. 


All  at  once,  as  we  are  gazing,  lo  the 

roofs  of  Charlestown  blazing ! 
They  have  fired  the  harmless  village ; 

in  an  hour  it  will  be  down  ! 
The  Lord  in  heaven  confound  them, 

rain  his  fire  and  brimstone  round 

them,  — 
The   robbing,   murdering    red-coats, 

that  would  burn  a  peaceful  town ! 
103 


They  are  marching,  stern  and  solemn ; 

we  can  see  each  massive  column 
As  they  near  the  naked  earth-mound 

with  the  slanting  walls  so  steep. 
Have  our  soldiers  got  faint-hearted, 

and  in  noiseless  haste  departed  ? 

Are  they  panic-struck  and  helpless  ? 

Are  they  palsied  or  asleep  ? 
104 


Now !  the  walls  they  're  almost  under ! 
scarce  a  rod  the  foes  asunder ! 

Not  a  firelock  flashed  against  them  ! 
up  the  earthwork  they  will  swarm ! 

But  the  words  have  scarce  been  spo- 
ken, when  the  ominous  calm  is 
broken, 

And  a  bellowing  crash  has  emptied 
all  the  vengeance  of  the  storm ! 
107 


So  again,  with  murderous  slaughter, 

pelted  backwards  to  the  water, 
Fly  Pigot's  running  heroes  and  the 

frightened  braves  of  Howe; 
And  we  shout,  "  At  last  they  're  done 

for,  it 's  their  barges  they  have 

run  for : 
They  are  beaten,  beaten,  beaten  ;  and 

the  battle  's  over  now !  " 
1 08 


And  we  looked,  poor  timid  creatures, 
on  the  rough  old  soldier's  fea- 
tures. 

Our  lips  afraid  to  question,  but  he 
knew  what  we  would  ask  : 

"  Not  sure,"  he  said  ;  "  keep  quiet,  — 
once  more,  I  guess,  they  '11  try- 
it— 

Here 's  damnation  to  the  cut-throats  ! " 
—  then  he  handed  me  his  flask, 


Saying,  "  Gal,  you  're  looking  shaky ; 

have  a  drop  of  old  Jamaiky  ; 
I  'm  afeard  there  '11  be  more  trouble 

afore  the  job  is  done  ;  " 
So  I   took   one   scorching  swallow; 

dreadful  faint  I  felt  and  hollow, 
Standing  there  from  early  morning 

when  the  firing  was  begun. 


All  through  those  hours  of  trial   I 

had  watched  a  calm  clock  dial, 
As  the  hands  kept  creeping,  creeping, 

—  they  were  creeping  round  to 
four, 

When  the  old  man  said,  "  They  Ve 
forming  with  their  bagonets  fixed 
for  storming : 

It 's  the  death-grip  that 's  a-coming, 

—  they  will  try  the  works  once 
more." 

"5 


5.^ 


With   brazen   trumpets   blaring,   the 

flames  behind  them  glaring, 
The  deadly  wall  before  them,  in  close 

array  they  come ; 
Still  onward,  upward  toiling,  like  a 

dragon's  fold  uncoiling,  — 
Like  the  rattlesnake's  shrill  warning 

the  reverberating  drum ! 
ii6 


Over  heaps  all  torn  and  gory  —  shall 
I  tell  the  fearful  story, 

How  they  surged  above  the  breast- 
work, as  a  sea  breaks  over  a 
deck; 

How,  driven,  yet  scarce  defeated,  our 
worn-out  men  retreated. 

With  their  powder-horns  all  emptied, 
like  the  swimmers  from  a  wreck  ? 
119 


It  has  all  been  told  and  painted ;  as 

-  for  me,  they  say  I  fainted, 
And  the  wooden-legged  old  Corporal 

stumped  with  me  down  the  stair : 
When  I  woke  from  dreams  affrighted 

the  evening  lamps  were  lighted, — 
On  the  floor  a  youth  was  lying;  his 

bleeding  breast  was  bare. 


And  I  heard  through  all  the  flurry, 

"  Send    for    Warren  !    hurry ! 

hurry! 
Tell   him  here  's  a  soldier  bleeding, 

and   he'll   come   and  dress    his 

wound ! " 
Ah,  we  knew  not  till  the  morrow  told 

its  tale  of  death  and  sorrow, 
How  the  starlight  found  him  stiffened 

on  the  dark  and  bloody  ground. 
123 


Who  the  youth  was,  what  his  name 
was,  where  the  place  from  which 
he  came  was, 

Who  had  brought  him  from  the  bat- 
tle, and  had  left  him  at  our  door, 

He  could  not  speak  to  tell  us  ;  but 
't  was  one  of  our  brave  fellows, 

As  the  homespun  plainly  showed  us 
which  the  dying  soldier  wore. 


<^ 


For  they  all  thought  he  was  dying, 
as  they  gathered  round  him  cry- 
ing,— 

And  they  said,  "  Oh,  how  they  '11  miss 
him  !  "  and  "  What  will  his 
mother  do  ?  " 

Then,  his  eyelids  just  unclosing  like 
a  child's  that  has  been  dozing. 

He    faintly    murmured,    "  Mother  !  " 

—  and  —  I    saw  his    eyes  were 

blue. 

127 


"  Why,  grandma,  how  you  're  wink- 
ing ! "  Ah,  my  child,  it  sets  me 
thinking 

Of  a  story  not  like  this  one.  Well, 
he  somehow  lived  along  ; 

So  we  came  to  know  each  other,  and 
I  nursed  him  like  a  —  mother. 

Till  at  last  he  stood  before  me,  tall, 

and  rosy-cheeked,  and  strong. 

128 


<^ 


And  we  sometimes  walked  together 

in  the  pleasant  summer  weather, 
—  "  Please  to  tell  us  what  his  name 

was  ?  "    Just  your  own,  my  little 

dear,  — 
There 's  his  picture  Copley  painted : 

we  became  so  well  acquainted, 
That  —  in  short,    that 's  why   I  'm 

grandma,  and   you   children   all 

are  here ! " 

131 


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